


Food and Sustenance

by Starla-Nell (Princess_Nell)



Series: Treats [10]
Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bossy Hawke, Breathplay, Collars, Confusion, Cuddling & Snuggling, Dom/sub, Established Relationship, Exhibitionism, Foot Fetish, Hand Feeding, Kissing, Light Sadism, Loud Sex, M/M, Marking, Masochism, Multi, Oral Sex, Orders, Riding Crops, Teasing, Voyeurism, at the end, crawling, cum swapping, dire warnings from best friends, elven feet, naked sub, partial off-screen negotiation, sex and affection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-09
Updated: 2019-09-09
Packaged: 2020-10-12 23:05:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,362
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20572418
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Princess_Nell/pseuds/Starla-Nell
Summary: Fenris discovers feelings he's been suppressing when Hawke lays out a tempting banquet.





	Food and Sustenance

**Author's Note:**

> This story will make little sense if you start with canon and skip the stories before it. Fenris & Anders have been through some shit and come to several understandings. One of those understandings is that feelings for each other are never going to happen. Unfortunately for them, the heart does what the heart wants sometimes. For some people, that's especially true when sex is involved.

“I’d like to watch you fall apart with Anders’ mouth wrapped around your cock,” Hawke announces, appropo of nothing. He’s been watching Fenris, trying to catch him off guard. It’s his turn to fluster Fenris. He’d thought he found an idea that would get a good reaction, but Fenris only raises an eyebrow.

“Hmm… No, you wouldn’t.” Fenris grins, swinging his feet down to the floor. “You’d like to _direct_ it.”

“Huh.” Suddenly, an image springs to mind: close chairs, pushing Fenris’ knees apart for Anders, describing to him exactly how and where to use his mouth. Hawke blinks at Fenris and grins. “You know me so well. My question is, would you like it?”

“I’m sure I would. If he agrees, work it in whenever you like.” Fenris flicks his hand and shrugs, thumb tucked in his book, but his eyes are lit with anticipation.

Something niggles at Hawke. ‘Whenever you like’ implies Fenris won’t change his mind. “When I do,” Hawke says carefully, “let me know if you’re not in the mood. I’ll try to warn you.”

“Of course.” Fenris says it so easily. He watches as Hawke tries to decide whether to push it, then sets his book down, chuckling.

“I enjoy how demanding you can be,” Fenris says. “And I enjoy that you only demand things that I want. It is… refreshing. Did I ever tell you that at first I was disappointed by the lack of surprise?”

“What?” Hawke says. “I”—

Fenris hums to cut him off. “Now that part of me eagerly anticipates the things we’ve agreed to. Together. You are good for me, Hawke.”

Hawke grins. “I try. Wait, would you like more surprise?”

“That would be fun, now that we’ve built this.” But what if—Fenris smiles. “And yes, I know that if I don’t like anything or have new boundries that night, I can say so.”

Hawke grins.

###

“They’re upstairs tonight, Serah Fenris, but Serah Hawke suggests you leave your armor in the parlor.”

When he’s done, he finds Bodhan waiting to show him up to the bedroom. _As if I don’t know the way._ Bodhan knocks on the door.

“Serah Hawke? Serah Fenris here to see you.” Bodhan opens the door with a slight bow, but never turns his eyes inside.

As he walks the short hall into the bedroom, Fenris hears a small scramble to his right. There, he sees Hawke sitting, fully clothed, his desk set for two and covered in small dishes of bite-sized food. Hawke is facing an empty chair.

_I thought Anders would be—_Fenris’ thoughts trip over themselves as Hawke stands and Anders becomes visible, kneeling under the table behind him. He’s naked, except for his collar.

“Fenris! Sorry to have started without you. See, Pet, it’s only Fenris, you needn’t have worried. Have you heard of meze? I told Orana what I wanted, and she insisted it was called meze.”

“I have, indeed.” Fenris swallows, hoping to sound less like he’s choking. “What you would call appetizers. I see Orana has made an entire meal of it.”

And she had. The food smells wonderful, with an array of colors from the light brown of hummus to the deep green of leaf-wrapped morsels. Everything on the table is in small pieces, properly eaten with fingers.

“Make yourself comfortable,” Hawke says, gesturing to the other chair and sitting in his own. “I’ve only barely started.”

“I see,” Fenris asked, eyes glimmering. “And your pet is so cute, as always. Is he allowed food from the table?” Fenris decides ‘making himself comfortable’ includes removing his jerkin.

“Of course,” Hawke says, watching the toggles come undone with an admiring smile.

Fenris folds the vest and drapes it over the back of his chair, leaving him in only his thick leather pants with sturrups. Then he sits facing Hawke to make his selections. Fenris pulls olives, a grape-leaf-wrapped morsel, and a piece of flatbread to his plate. Their chairs are close enough to touch calves and knees if he scoots to the edge of his chair. Fenris was mistaken before. Hawke isn’t fully dressed: His feet are bare.

“Usually we have our conversation downstairs, Hawke. I must admit, the scene you’ve set is… distracting.” He tears the flatbread into pieces, then dips the first one in hummus with oil. The hummus is smooth and rich, and there’s a sweet nuttiness to the flatbread.

“Good,” Hawke grins. “Here’s what I propose. We eat, we take care of our pet. I give you a foot massage. We decide from there how much sex we want, if any, though I have a few offers from our pet that are tempting.” Hawke takes a bite of a small falafel ball, mumbles “yum,” and holds the rest under the table for Anders. Fenris watches his lips and teeth as he accepts it and Hawke pets him while he chews.

“Hmm,” Fenris says. “I do like Ferelden sandwiches. I don’t see any on the table.” He actually has no idea what would be involved in _food_ described that way.

“I think we might arrange for one for dessert,” Hawke says, grin creeping up. Anders looks up at Fenris from Hawke’s knee. His eyes are already dark, his face relaxed and neutral. Anders blinks, chest rising and falling. _Fuck, he’s imagining it. _Lust presses gently inside Fenris’ chest.

“Your pet is scrawny, Hawke,” Fenris says to earn an eyeroll. “You should feed him better.”

“I try, believe me. Feed him whatever you like.”

Fenris carefully tears a small piece of the flatbread, dunks it in hummus, and offers it below the table. Anders crawls over to accept it. “Whatever I like?” he asks, watching Anders’ lips again.

“You can feed him _that_ later.” Hawke, master of innuendo.

Fenris hums and turns to Hawke. “Do you think he would enjoy it?” _Have you negotiated this?_

“I know he would.” _Yes._

Anders rests his chin on Fenris’ knee, and his cock twitches at the request in his eyes.

“If you would like it that much, Pet, I will let you suck it later.” Fenris runs his fingers through Anders’ hair. The texture is enough to stir that lust. _What the hell is lust doing in my chest? _Usually it settles lower, or spreads more evenly.

Anders smiles and scoots to rest his cheek on Fenris’ knee, watching Hawke idly as he finishes chewing. Fenris strokes his hair and remembers that they once teased Hawke with a pose very similar to this. A glance at Hawke’s naked desire confirms that he remembers.

Hawke clears his throat. “Orana wanted to serve the meal in courses, but I insisted we not be disturbed when we get here.”

Fenris lowers an olive below the line of the table, shaking it to get Anders’ attention. “Probably a good idea. I’m sure too much attention would be bad for our pet’s digestion.” He’s not looking, but the olive moves just before lips wrap around Fenris’ fingertips to take it. Anders licks the trace of olive brine off his fingers. Fenris’ lust finally moves lower.

Next he tries the grape-leaf-wrapped morsel. Normally he likes such things, but this one hides an oily fish mixed with the rice filling. “Ugh, that’s horrible.”

“Our Pet might like it.”

Anders huffs and refuses the second half of the tidbit. Amused, Fenris presses it to the corner of his mouth. Anders turns away, refusing to look at either of them.

“Come now, Pet, just a taste,” Hawke says. “If you don’t like it, we won’t give you any more.”

Anders looks up to Hawke. At his encouraging smile, he grumpily opens his mouth, and Fenris slides the second bite of the fish-filled wrap into his passive mouth. As he chews, the resentment melts from his posture. After swallowing, he rests his chin on Fenris’ knee with pleading eyes. Fenris chuckles and gets more of the awful things just to give him.

Hawke watches as Fenris feeds him another morsel, eats a bit himself, feeds Anders. Fenris enjoys his stare as he works his way through a light meal, then eyes Hawke coyly.

“You should try the pastry,” Hawke says, gesturing with one.

“Really? Where?” Fenris licks the corner of his lips, pretends to look for it.

“Here, I’ll give you some of mine.”

Hawke leans over with a small pastry. For a split second, Fenris considers taking it with his hand, but that would ruin Hawke’s fun. He bites into the flakey shell, and thick, sweet clotted cream covers his tongue. He smiles and ducks his head as a little leaks out of the corner of his mouth.

“Oops.” Hawke pops the rest of the bite in his own mouth, then returns to swipe at the cream with his thumb. Fenris turns to catch his thumb in lips and tongue, licking the cream off. Hawke hums.

“That is delicious.” Fenris says.

Hawke just hums again. His eyes are blown dark as he leans back in his seat.

It’s like a spell of peace and safety cast by Hawke and this place. Anders lays his head against his knee, and Fenris strokes his hair. A surge of _affection_ wells up again, nothing like the lust still buzzing through his nerves. Fenris is tired of fighting it. He allows himself a smile while Anders watches Hawke.

_This was just supposed to be sex. This was supposed to be for Hawke. _Fenris collects more food on his plate and continues feeding Anders, thinking about the flavors and making sure he’s only feeding Anders things he’ll enjoy.

Anders is chewing blissfully with his eyes closed, leaning against Fenris’ knee. Fenris is gazing at Anders, controlling nothing on his face for once. He glances up at Hawke. _His_ face contains a blend of joy, fear, hope, and pain. If Anders feels any affection for Fenris, Hawke doesn’t know about it. And Hawke would know, if anyone does. Fenris closes his eyes. _Kaffas, that stings._

“Fenris, do we need to”—

“No, Hawke.” Fenris’ tone is sharp, too sudden, and Anders’ head jerks up. “Sorry, Pet.” It’s not hard to remember their roles when they’re like this. Fenris soothes him back to his knee, heart breaking. “Hawke, I…”

“So what have you thought of the weather lately?” he interrupts. Fenris shoots him his most grateful look.

“It’s been miserable, but isn’t it always?”

Hawke says, “Give me your foot.”

“But you still have food.”

Hawke waves his hand. “I started before you got here, remember? Let me do this for you.”

Fenris lifts the foot furthest from Anders, and Hawke catches it, lifts it to his lap. Then he strokes and presses, and it’s all Fenris can do to keep his groans to a hum. His fingers tangle in Anders’ hair, then relax to keep petting him.

Hawke’s breathing picks up. He’s very intent, and his fingers stroke and cradle Fenris’ foot almost worshipfully.

“Hawke?”

“Hmm?” he says, lifting glassy eyes from Fenris’ foot to his face.

“Do you have a foot fetish I didn’t know about?”

“Absolutely indecent, how you never cover your gorgeous feet,” Hawke says, pressing a thumb down the tight tendon in the arch of Fenris’ foot, from the ball of the big toe to the heel. The groan that elicits is irrepressible, and Fenris tangles his hand in Anders’ hair again. Hawke responds with a small groan of his own, and Anders makes a small, needy whimper. Fenris tugs on Anders’ hair to elicit his sigh of satisfaction as Hawke strokes a thumb down his foot again. It feels amazing, and Hawke is hard. Fenris wraps his free hand around the base of the chair, short nails scraping the wood.

Fenris tugs Anders’ head up and back and leans over to kiss him, using his tongue to explore his yeilding mouth. The taste of fish is there, but also the olives, the wine, and Anders. Hawke presses down the outside edge of Fenris’ foot, from smallest toe to heel, and Fenris groans into Anders’ lax mouth.

“You can kiss him back, if you want to, Pet,” Hawke says.

Suddenly, Anders presses back, tongue wrapping with Fenris’. If his mouth weren’t busy, Fenris would be swearing and chanting ‘Fuck, yes.’ As it is, he pulls Anders up to straddle his lap and continue kissing him.

“Oh, fuck,” Hawke whispers, gripping Fenris’ foot. Fenris wraps a hand around Anders’ half-hard cock and strokes lightly. He whimpers and gets harder in Fenris’ hand. His kiss gets desperate, needy. Skin, skin, he’s all skin, and Fenris needs to _claw_ at something. He wraps his curling fingers of both hands around the base of the chair and arches back, involuntarily thrusting and pushing Anders up. Hawke’s firm thumb strokes up and down his foot surge to his cock. When Fenris falls back against the chair, he has to catch Anders, drunk on kisses.

Hawke lifts his own foot against Fenris’ other knee, spreading his legs wide.

“Kneel on the floor, Pet, in front of Fenris.”

When Anders pulls away, his eyes are blown dark. He takes a submissive pose between Fenris’ knees: back bent, eyes on the floor, elbows out with palms resting loosely on his thighs. Fenris nearly gets up to drag him to the bed, but Hawke grips his foot and says, “Fenris.” He stops.

“Fenris. Undo the lacings of your pants.” Hawke is still stroking that foot. Fenris wants to disobey until he remembers their conversation about Hawke directing. Then his need for Anders is tempered by his need to please Hawke. He carefully loosens and then unlaces his leggings. “Take them off.” Hawke keeps ahold of his foot, making it difficult, but Anders shuffles out of the way. Fenris manages to slide his leggings down the leg Hawke has. Hawke pulls them over the foot he’s claimed and slings them over the back of his own chair. “Good. Now take out your cock. Let me see it.” Fenris unties his cotton breeches and shoves the edge under his balls, lifting them and exposing his hard cock. “No,” says Hawke. “Don’t touch it.” Fenris’ breath catches. He grips the base of the chair and tilts his head back. “Look at Anders,” Hawke commands. Anders’ head is still bowed. “Look at him, waiting so patiently. He wants you so much. He knows what I’m going to tell him to do. Pet, look at Fenris.” Hawke’s thumb swipes deliciously over the arch of his foot as Anders obeys. “Tell him without words how much you want to suck his cock.”

Anders didn’t need that last command. Fenris sees as soon as Anders looks up what he wants. Now, though, Anders licks his lips and smiles. Fenris’ hips twitch.

“Kaffas, Hawke, you are cruel.” Fenris is still gripping the chair.

Hawke smiles. “Don’t speak again until I say. Don’t move unless I tell you to, or unless I move you,” he responds. “Anders. Hold one wrist behind your back. Let go and touch either me or Fenris if you need out.” Eyes still locked on Fenris, Anders obeys.

Fenris isn’t sure he can take what’s going on in his chest right now. _Jester._ According to Hawke’s rules, once will only pause the game. _Should I say it? Will Anders know if I say it? _But he can’t breathe.

“Jester,” he says, breaking eye contact and gasping for air. _Hawke’s fine, but Anders is dangerous to have feelings for. He wants mages to rule as they do in Tevinter, he’s said as much. _Plus sharing in Hawke’s broken heart when Anders inevitably loses to his demon. Spirit, whatever.

“Fenris?” Anders says. _Am I imagining the concern in his voice? _Fenris turns back. His brow is furrowed. _He’s just trying to figure out what went wrong. _

“I’m okay. Kaffas, Anders, sometimes you’re too much.” Fenris’ compliment does nothing to soothe Anders, and he turns to Hawke, one wrist still held in the other hand.

“Do you need to stop?” Hawke says in a gentle voice, much different from the one he’s been using up until now. “We don’t have to do this, we can cuddle instead.”

All that contact._ I’ll hump you both anyway. _“No,” says Fenris, “this is excellent. I just needed to catch my breath.”

Anders leans his head against the leg held up by Hawke. It’s really fucking reassuring. Fenris wants Hawke’s illusion now, and fuck the future.

“I’m good. Let’s go,” says Fenris. “Jester.”

“Good.” Hawke has that commanding voice back. “Close your eyes, Fenris. I want you to feel every bit of this.”

Fenris obeys gratefully as Hawke directs Anders.

“Start with kisses on his inner thigh, closest to the knee.” Perhaps closing his eyes was not a mercy. Eye contact would be broken anyway, but now Fenris doesn’t know where Anders’ lips will touch. He kisses without pattern, so that Fenris never knows when or where that warm contact will happen. His skin hums with anticipation, but each warm touch grounds Fenris to his body.

“Harder, Pet,” Hawke says. Anders presses harder, then sucks on the skin, grazing with teeth occassionally.

Tevene swears bubble up Fenris’ throat. No talking, Hawke said. Fenris mashes the words into incoherent syllables: “Veeeyha! Ah, ah, oh, fuuuuuuu uh uh.”

Anders smiles, lips pulling thin halfway up Fenris’ thigh.

Hawke says, “I told you not to speak. That was very close, but not quite words. A minor punishment, then. Anders, bite where your mouth is. Bite hard.” Hawke keeps one hand on Fenris’ foot and puts the other on his ankle to hold the leg still. Fenris doesn’t object, but grips tighter to the bottom of the chair.

Anders bites him, and it fucking _hurts_. He takes it with a moan that softens as Anders licks the bite. He’s careful not to let any consonants slip into his moans. He feels so good, alert and wanting/hating more pain.

Hawke pushes Fenris’ other knee with his foot again, spreading his legs. “Now kiss the other thigh, same pattern.”

Anders shifts, head brushing one knee then the other as he moves.

“Move up his leg, now, Pet, slowly.”

Fenris is not nearly as good at holding still as Anders. His head twitches back. He grips tighter to the seat of the chair, and that helps.

“Look at his cock, Pet,” Hawke says when Anders is close enough that Fenris is hoping for a brush of ear, hair, anything. Anders is still sucking at the inner thigh, but the detatched way he’s doing it tells Fenris he’s obeying Hawke.

“Doesn’t that look delicious? Imagine what Fenris’ cock will taste like. Imagine the texture against your tongue.” Fenris is imagining it, too: The wet warmth of Anders’ mouth.

Anders whimpers. Fenris gasps for breath, tempted to berate Hawke for cruelty again. Hawke doesn’t relent.

“Pet, use the tip of your tongue for one taste.”

Anders licks from base to tip, slowly. Fenris hisses in another breath, shuddering, but he does _not_ arch up against Anders’ tongue.

“Now your lips around the tip.”

Fenris can’t think of anything that could feel better. He focuses on not moving as sensations tell him to thrash.

“You know the thing you do with your tongue?”

Anders nods, and Fenris can’t stop himself from quivering.

“Do that.”

That. That is better.

“Imagine what Fenris’ cock will feel like when its length is pressed against your entire tongue. Imagine what it will feel like, nestled in the back of your throat. Will your throat spasm against it? You told me once it feels good when that happens. Is that still good for you?”

Anders whimpers an affirmative. Kaffas. All of that. All of that would be better. Fenris would beg for it, but he’s not allowed to talk.

“Slowly take his cock halfway, Pet.”

Fenris becomes extremely aware of his raised leg. Fenris wants to put his foot on the ground, wrap his legs over Anders’ shoulders, use his heels to pull him down as deep as he can take, but Hawke still has the foot cradled. Somehow the frustration of that transforms into anticipation.

“Now as deep as you can.”

Fenris loses awareness of everything except Anders’ throat, squeezing and releasing and squeezing.

“Good.” Hawke pauses for Anders to lift and sniff in a breath. “Breathe deep, Pet, three times.” When Anders is done, Hawke says, “Take him deep again.”

Fenris notices a slight pulse on his foot as Hawke counts the seconds Anders is choking on his cock. Fenris could come, but Hawke’s tortuous pace is not enough. He allows himself a groan.

“Good. Breathe. Take him again.” Hawke waits longer this time. “Good.” Anders can’t possibly breathe when he’s that deep.

Hawke is pushing them both, Anders’ breath and Fenris’ self-control.

“You want to touch yourself, Pet, but you will have to wait. Again.”

And maybe Anders’ self-control, too. Before he swallows Fenris down, Anders flicks his tongue around Fenris’ tip. Fenris delights in this little rebellion, and more mangled Tevene syllables escape: “Kaa-ha-ah… ah! Fe-heh-oh, Fasssssssss… uhgh.”

“Good. Again. Good. Again.” Now Hawke isn’t counting seconds, he was increasing Anders’ pace slowly and methodically, building Fenris’ orgasm using Anders’ mouth. Finally, he says, “Be a good Pet. He likes suction and whatever you’re doing with your throat. Do what it takes to get him off.” The fabric under Fenris’ heel moves, and he wonders if Hawke is touching himself through his pants. Then Anders starts sucking.

“Ven! Ugh ah ah, oh! Fuu huh huh ah!”

“You may speak.” Hawke says this controlled phrase in a raspy voice with a swipe against his arch.

“Fasta vass, Anders, amatus, festis bei umo canavarum—ah kaffas! Venhedis, so fucking—ah!” The flood of words is chased by a flood of pleasure. He keeps his grip on his chair and his eyes tightly shut, but he throws his head back and arches into Anders’ mouth. Hawke quickly sets his foot down—thank fuck!—and puts one hand on each hip to hold Fenris down as he comes hard. Pushing against those hands changes the quality but not the intensity of pleasure. Fenris’ knees press against Hawke’s, stopping him from squeezing Anders.

“Faster, Pet, faster,” Hawke commands. Anders bobs on his cock, slurping and swallowing. Fenris imagines his neck moving under the collar, knows Hawke can see it. He expresses the fine complexity of this idea with another string of invectives.

“I guess you like it when I touch your feet,” Hawke says, stepping back and grabbing Fenris’ shoulders while he’s still panting.

“You ass.” Fenris gasps in a few breaths. “Like I can—compose a good—comeback—right now.”

Hawke chuckles and touches their foreheads together briefly. He helps Anders up, steadying him as he stumbles giddily. Hawke ends up on one side of Fenris’ knees, Anders on the other.

Hawke says, “I want a taste, Pet.”

Fenris says, “Fasta vass,” reverently as they kiss over his tingling, limp body. When Hawke actually swallows, Anders grinning back at him, Fenris groans and his afterglow warms slightly.

“Well, now I’m all hot and bothered. How about you, Pet?” Hawke says brightly.

Anders surprises Fenris by answering, “Fa—Fade, yes.” _Well, that was a direct question. _His voice is lower than usual, thick and wrecked.

“Fenris, want to watch?”

“Wouldn’t miss it,” he sighs, lazy with pleasure.

Ander sprawls across the bed while Hawke moves his own chair to a better vantage point, then coaxes Fenris to the new chair. Fenris glances at the table of food.

When he looks back, Hawke is crawling on top of Anders, still clothed, plundering his mouth. Fenris can see them in profile, see every place their bodies touch. It’s a gorgeous sight, even if his body doesn’t want to do anything about it right now. Fenris smirks.

“Hey, Hawke, there’s more where that came from.”

Hawke continues to support himself over Anders with one arm, but frees the other to flip Fenris off while still kissing Anders deeply.

“Excellent point, I have tired somewhat.”

Meanwhile, Anders is unbuckling the belt of Hawke’s tunic and undoing the ties of his pants while kissing him back enthusiastically. The belt falls to one side, then tumbles off the bed.

“Pet, when he makes a smart-ass comment, you can respond.”

“I’ll shut up, then,” Fenris says. “I don’t want to distract you.”

“Much,” says Anders. Then he goans, because he’s finally freed Hawke’s cock. Hawke presses it against Anders’ bare thigh to wring that noise from Anders again.

“Across my lap, Pet,” Hawke says. It makes no sense until Hawke takes off his shirt, grabs the oil, and sits on the edge of the bed, calves flat against the side. Anders crawls eagerly over his lap on all fours. “Good,” Hawke says, kissing the side of his ribs. He palms the buckle of Anders’ collar. “Now down.” As Hawke presses Anders’ neck down, pinning him to the mattress by his collar, Anders’ eyes glaze over again. Submission, pleasure. Fenris feels an unwelcome surge of gratitude to Hawke for giving this to Anders. _How could I let this happen?_ “Good,” Hawke grunts again. “Stay.”

Hawke releases Anders to pour a little oil on the fingers of his other hand. _If I knew when I let my guard down…_ Hawke tangles his dry hand in Anders’ hair, and slowly slides an oiled finger in Anders’ ass. Hawke tugs on the long, reddish hair.

“Huungh,” Anders says. It twists in Fenris’ chest.

“Look at him, Fenris,” Hawke says, and Fenris does.

“He’s”—The words snarl in remnants of fear. _He’s beautiful._ Anders’ silken hair is a mess, tangled in Hawke’s fist. His back slopes up from his black collar, shining with a trace of sweat. The muscles of his shaking legs keep that tempting ass up for Hawke’s sliding fingers. His cock hangs down, hard and twitching with need. He is exposed, giving Hawke complete access.

_Since the first time I watched Hawke cum down his throat. I fell hard the very first time we had sex. _

Hawke tugs Anders’ hair again, and Anders opens his eyes wide, moaning and gasping. Fenris wonders about his own expression as Anders’ eyelids droop in hazy pleasure again. He still can’t bear to end it and break Hawke’s heart. Then Anders shudders and bites the side of Hawke’s clothed leg: Hawke has added a second finger, and he’s working him fast, but never hard enough to drag Anders out of his obedient daze. The tugs on Anders’ hair and resulting moans make the process seem urgent, demanding, but Hawke is making sure Anders is well-stretched, which means he plans to fuck him tonight. Hidden behind Anders, Hawke’s self-control is just as beautiful.

“Engh. Ughf. Unnnh.” Anders is panting around his bite of Hawke, and Hawke’s eyes have blown dark. Hawke tugs hard enough that Anders loses grip with his teeth, and he cries out, stretching his arms to claw the sheets. “Pleeeeeease!” Anders keens.

Hawke removes his fingers and swats Anders. This must be a signal, because Anders sits back on his heels, panting to be fucked.

“Center of the bed, Pet, facing the headboard.” Anders moves there, going to all fours while Hawke slicks his cock, cleans his hand, and gets a crop out of the cabinet. Anders’ cock twitches, and his elbows wobble.

Fenris memorizes the sight of them both. He remembers what they each feel like against his skin, how they’ve taught Anders to touch him. His fear that Anders would hurt him, but he never did. His chest clenches again, painful this time. Because Fenris knows he will. It’s inevitable.

“Fenris,” Hawke says, trailing the crop lightly over Anders’ side, his ass.

How did he get distracted? The fucking _sight_ of them. Hawke is already buried in Anders’ ass. Anders is shaking and making needy little whimpers, but he must have been told not to move. His skin is unmarked so far.

“Kaffas,” Fenris responds.

“Good,” Hawke says.

He slides out of Anders, who _shudders,_ “Uuuuungh,” then pants, “Ah, ah,” empty and desperate.

Hawke slides back in, slowly enough that Anders pushes back just to increase the pressure, the speed, the feeling.

“Bad pet,” Hawke says, smacking the meat of Anders’ shoulder blade with the crop. He shudders again, presses back again, asking for more wicked little welts. Hawke obliges.

Hawke finds a rythmn that works. He thrusts with a hand on one hip, and smacks Anders with the crop in the other hand. Anders makes one long cry, rythmic with the thrusts and blows. Fenris wishes he could have this moment forever.

Hawke pulls Anders up, still buried deep, grinding against his ass. Anders stretches up and back to press his welts against Hawke’s skin. The next swit lands on his chest, and Anders’ cry becomes a yell, then at the next one a roar. Hawke roars back at him, and fuck, it’s good for them. Fenris’ heart feels like it’s being crushed.

He could watch this all night, but they cum now, Hawke arching back and Anders spattering on the bedsheets.

Hawke tosses the crop off the bed, reaches that hand forward to pull Anders tight against him, gently caressing the angry welts. Anders melts into the touch, falling forward. Hawke tilts Anders to his side, away from the mess on the sheets and facing Fenris. He curls around behind him and carresses his arm, his hair. Both of their eyes are closed, and Fenris watches their bliss before getting up quietly.

The remaining food all fits onto one plate. He piles it high, then takes the plate to the far side of the bed, looking at Hawke’s back and his high-class leggings.

“I was promised a Ferelden sandwich,” Fenris says, startling them.

Anders looks around to him, then starts scooting forward before Hawke says, “No, Pet, I’d rather keep you clean tonight,” and holds him still. “Fenris, grab a rag?” As he does, Hawke scoots back, saying, “You brought the food.”

Fenris just nods. Hawke touches the buckle of Anders’ collar, and he tilts his head forward for Hawke to remove it.

“Put it by the head of the bed, there’s plenty of room and it will be easier to reach when we want it.” Hawke cleans up his own mess with the rag while Fenris sets the food down. “Come here.” Hawke pats the space between himself and Anders.

Anders can’t move forward into the still-damp spot, and Hawke is already backed against the edge of the bed. After some ridiculous clambering and twisting (Fenris knows he put a knee in someone’s gut, though both deny it) they manage to settle as a stack of three spoons on their sides: Hawke around Fenris around Anders. Hawke anchors Fenris as he holds Anders against himself. Fenris smells Anders’ hair and pretends he didn’t realize he wants a life with Anders, would love to make him happy, needs to see him smile again.

It only works a little.

###

“You’re brooding again,” observes Isabela.

“What if I am?” Fenris says, watching Hawke and Anders loot the corpses. He’s been doing this a lot lately, hoping Hawke will draw all his affectionate feelings again.

“I’m enjoying it,” Isabela admits, “but whenever Hawke sees he gets this adorable little crinkle between his eyes.”

Fenris grunts.

“Anders doesn’t see it, of course,” she says, as if his callousness were a given.

Fenris turns to glare at her.

“Shit,” she whispers. “No, Fenris! Fenris, that is _such_ bad idea. Hawke makes your thing work, but Anders is no good for you. Never has been. Keep it to sex.”

“Don’t you think I _know_ that?” Fenris hisses. “But what I _want_ and what’s _good_ for me are not exactly on speaking terms, Isabela.”

“Mark my words, this will end in tears,” she intones.

“We shall see,” Fenris says, turning away because she’s probably right.

“Hey, you two!” Anders calls, and Fenris’ traitor heart flips. “Are you going to help loot, or are we going to be out here all day?”

“Coming!” Isabela says enthusiastically. She whispers urgently to Fenris as she goes, “You need to figure out what you’re going to do.”

**Author's Note:**

> Spoiler for future revelations:   
I decided (somewhat arbitrarily) when I wrote the very first story in this series that (this) Fenris is the type to fall in love at first fuck. This is not the sort of thing you just know about yourself.   
(This) Anders, on the other hand, must be loved to love. Because he believes Fenris cannot love him, his heart is safe until Fenris confesses. Of course, they had an agreement that Fenris has now broken (unintentionally), and so he might be a little upset.


End file.
